The Innocent Artist
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Another Honey 'Verse. This one is another case fic. Sally finally finds a man but he's a murder suspect. Won't this be fun? No warnings as yet. Well, a bit of coarse language but nothing too shocking.
1. The Gallery

**Disclaimer: And still not mine. Except for Ian for now. Soon he'll be Sally's though.**

**A/N: Remember Killian Owen Brody? I do. Can't forget him. He's infested my mind and said that Sgt. Sally needs him. He's insisted on becoming a character in this series. He doesn't care that his personality is already a character in another story of mine. He wants to be in the Honey 'Verse too, so I'm allowing it because he's loud and pushy…at least in my head. Besides it's a good idea. Sally needs someone to help ground her and John needs someone besides Lestrade to help him run interference between Sherlock and Sally. So enjoy the story and let me know what you think of Ian.**

**The Case of the Innocent Artist**

**The Gallery**

Sgt. Sally Donovan stood beneath the umbrella protecting her from the fierce rain shivering. The umbrella wasn't doing much good though it was keeping her face free from the lashing rain. It had been raining for four days straight and London was near drowning in the unexpected waterfall from the sky.

"Sgt. Donovan?" The PC at her side asked quietly. "Why did the DI send us out here like this? It's pouring," she complained.

Sally barely resisted rolling her eyes. "Because he's sent for reinforcements and we need to guide them to the scene."

"Good thing the scene itself is inside," the PC muttered. "Otherwise all the evidence would be washed away and then Humphrey, I mean Dr. Anderson, would be very unhappy."

"Anderson's an idiot," Sally muttered back. "The Freak could find evidence even in this downpour."

The PC scowled at her. "He said you'd say that. Humphrey's brilliant."

Sally muffled her snort of derisive amusement and watched the approaching cab intently. She ignored the latest of Anderson's conquests to the best of her ability.

"Sally! Penny! Come inside out of the rain!" As if called by their thoughts, Anderson stood just under the awning of the art gallery and called out to them. PC Penelope Chelton started to walk towards him but Sally's hand shot out and stayed her motion before she'd taken a single step.

"DI Lestrade is in charge of the scene and he sent us out to wait for Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. A good PC does as her superior tells her, Chelton," she growled. "Don't move." Her eyes never left the cab that had come to a stop just down the block.

"But Humphrey's—" the PC started.

"I don't care if he says he's God himself," Sally interrupted. "Lestrade's in charge not Anderson."

Chelton swallowed hard, looked over at Anderson and then straightened her back and held the umbrella more firmly over their heads. "Yes ma'am," she said stoutly.

From the corner of her eye, Sally saw Anderson's fierce scowl and her lips twitched for a moment in a half smile. Then Anderson stepped out into the street and Sally found her own scowl as he fought his way through the rain to come and stand just under the umbrella with them.

"You two need to come back inside the building where it's dry," he said loudly to be heard over the thunder and pounding rain.

"Did the DI send you out here to bring us back in?" Chelton asked in a pathetically hopeful voice.

Anderson barely glanced at her. "It's pouring out here and you're going to catch your death of cold."

Sally watched the two figures dashing up the street intently. Her eyes flicked to Anderson and then back to the runners. "Lestrade sent us out for a reason, Anderson," she said as she stepped from under the umbrella's protection. "Freak! Dr. John! Over here!" She waved an arm at them as she yelled.

The runners turned towards her in sync and sprinted towards the umbrella and the trio under it. "What are they doing here?" Anderson hissed from behind here.

"Who are they?" Chelton asked him.

"The DI's pet psychopath and his husband," Anderson bit out. "Stay away from them if you know what's good for you, Penny." He turned his attention back to Sally. "You should have left them out here to drown."

"Why?" Chelton asked innocently but Anderson had no chance to answer as the two splashed up before Sally.

"Where?" The taller of the two shot out at Sally.

"There, the art gallery," Sally pointed to the building. "Follow me, I'll take you in." She dashed across the street knowing they'd follow.

The taller man stared between Anderson and Chelton for a moment while his companion ran after Sally. "He did tell you that he's married, didn't he?" The tall man asked Chelton. "He is."

Chelton startled and stared at him. "Why would that matter to me?" She squeaked out. "I'm not dating him."

One drenched black brow rose. "Really?" He asked in a disbelieving tone. "Well, I guess dating and sleeping with are two different things, aren't they?"

"Listen, Psychopath—" Anderson started in a furious voice.

"Sherlock!" His companion yelled from where he was standing in front of the art gallery. "Stop picking at Anderson and his new floor scrubber and get out of the rain!"

"Coming John!" The tall dark haired man shouted back. "You see, Anderson, you can't even hide your new relationship from John and he is deliberately obtuse when it comes to infidelity."

Chelton turned to stare at Anderson. "You're still married?" She squeaked out again. "You said you were getting divorced."

"Oh, he won't ever get divorced," Sherlock said. "His wife comes from money and Humphrey here is far too comfortable in his wife's huge house with its servants to ever let her leave him."

"His house doesn't have servants," Chelton protested. "It's not even a house. It's a flat in the middle of Old London."

Sherlock gave her a patronizing smile. "And you never wondered how a police forensics technician could afford a flat in that part of town? You really are young."

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled again. "I swear if you get sick I will have no sympathy and I'll refuse to bring you tea!"

The tall man spun around at that and dashed away to the short man standing in front of the building that house the art gallery. Chelton watched in something akin to jealousy as the shorter man greeted the taller with a dry towel and stretched up on his toes to dry the dark hair. She shook her head and started to trudge across the street to the building and some hot tea.

"Don't listen to him, Penny," Anderson said quietly as he kept pace with her. "He's a psychopath and doesn't know anything about us. I love you."

Chelton nodded but didn't say anything. Her eyes had never left the couple by the door. John had finished with Sherlock's hair and was helping the taller man out of his coat with an indulgent smile now. Sherlock looked down at him from over his shoulder with his own small smile. She could see the utter trust and complete love they had for each other shining like a beacon. She had wanted that kind of love her whole life.

She chanced a glance at Anderson and gave a small shiver. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the couple outlined in the light from the gallery with a look of pure hate on his features. She didn't like that look. Maybe it was time to find someone else to fill the time with. If she was lucky maybe someday she'd find a love like the couple's but it wouldn't be with Humphrey Anderson.


	2. The Scene

**Disclaimer: Still at home…not leaving until the kids get out of school on the 23****rd****. And I still don't own anything. Really. Not even a car. Or a TV. Though I do own my computer so I guess I own something just not the characters. And I'm still poor.**

**A/N: So I was having trouble with where this story was going. It was supremely annoying and so I came back to this chapter and revised it. This chapter has added parts and the rest will be completely deleted and rewritten. Let me know what you think.**

**The Scene**

Sherlock took the now damp towel from John's hands and tossed it to a passing constable. He took John's hand in his own and turned to Sally. "So, what have you got?" He asked her.

Sally shrugged. "Don't know," she confessed. "I had only just arrived when the DI sent me out to wait for you."

Sherlock stared at her intently. "Usually he at least gives you a briefing before sending you to wait for us." He muttered.

Sally scowled harshly at him. "Yeah, well, this time he didn't all right? And no I don't know why. If I did then he'd have briefed me, wouldn't he?"

Sherlock suddenly smirked at her. "You were late." He said with relish. "You were late and he didn't have time to brief you before we got here. Now, why were you late? There had to be a reason. Did you have a date? No," he said with a look at her skirt. "Not a date. You were at home…doing what though." He reached forward and pulled a lock of her hair from the side of her head. "Shower? No. You were taking a bath and had the radio up too loud to hear the phone."

Sally swatted his hand from her hair. "Knock it off, Freak. Yes I was in the bath and yes my music was loud not that it matters any. I was supposed to be off tonight."

John stepped in between them and glared at them both. "You're wasting time, children," he told them. "We can easily go in and ask Greg what's going on, can't we? I would suggest doing that instead of sniping at each other."

"Fine," they said in unison and then scowled at each other again.

John chuckled under his breath and stepped away from them and towards the office where he figured he'd find Greg. "Come on then, you two."

They followed him obediently still glaring at each other. Attracted by the sounds and lights of the Yarders at the scene Sherlock wandered off towards the dead body in the middle of the room to the right and Sally shook her head. He'd at least be kept out of trouble for a few minutes. "Freak's found a toy, Dr. John," she told John.

John glanced back at his husband and sighed. "He always does, Sgt. Sally, but you knew that already, didn't you?" He stopped a few feet from the door to the office and looked over his shoulder at her with a searching gaze. "What's wrong with you tonight? I know you and Sherlock aren't friends but I thought you'd gotten past the irrational animosity."

Sally gave him a half-hearted glare and then wrapped her arms around herself in a tight grip. "You've been spending too much free time with him," she huffed and then shook her head. "I don't know, actually," she muttered almost too softly for him to hear. "There's something wrong tonight and I don't know what it is."

John put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, his hazel eyes understanding. "I know." He said softly with a glance towards the room where he could hear his husband. "Sherlock's been…fidgety all day as well."

Sally snorted at being compared to the Freak but nodded anyway. "I don't like this, Dr. John. This rain and then there's stupid Anderson and now this. Ian's supposed to be doing a show here soon, I think. He's been out of cell range for the past week and I haven't been able to contact him for the details."

John frowned and looked around the hallway they were in. Unfortunately there were no paintings here. He squeezed Sally's shoulder again. "I'm sure he's fine, Sgt. Sally. What's this about Anderson?"

Sally nodded again. "I hope you're right about Ian, Dr. John," she said. "And Anderson's just being himself. Why didn't I see what an arse he was before you told me?" She shook off the thought, uncrossed her arms and tilted her head up defiantly. "Shall I collect the Freak or do you want to?"

John frowned at her. "Why do you keep calling him that?" He asked in a hard tone.

Sally shrugged. "I told you this before, Dr. John and you know I don't mean it in a cruel way anymore. It just kind of fits him, you know?" Brown eyes met hazel.

John sighed. "I know." He paused for a moment. "I think this day is getting to all of us, Sgt. Sally. Sherlock isn't bothered by that name and neither am I usually. Just today…" he paused again.

"There is something wrong in the air today," a baritone voice said from behind them suddenly. "There's too much electricity from the storms and it's putting everyone on edge."

They both spun around and Sally let out a small yelp of surprise. "Don't do that, Freak!" She yelled with one hand over her heart. "Learn to make some noise when you move."

Sherlock gave her a predatory grin. "Why would I want to do that? Silent movement is very useful at times."

John scowled at him. "Only if you are trying to give your husband a heart attack, you wanker."

Sherlock sent him an innocent smile. "I would never do such a thing, John. I am quite attached to my husband."

"Though trying to give an innocent Detective Sargent one is not beyond your capabilities, I'm sure," Sally snorted.

Sherlock sent his innocent smile to her now. "You find me an innocent Detective Sargent and I'll do my best to scare them into a heart attack, Donovan."

"You think you're so funny," Sally scowled at him.

"Children," John said warningly before they could start snapping at each other again. "Don't make me go find Anderson so the two of you can gang up on him."

They both glared at him for a moment. Sally took a calming breath. "What did you get off the body?" She finally asked Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned back at the gallery. "I don't have enough information yet to draw any correct conclusions. I need to get the details from Lestrade before I can connect what I've seen with anything tangible."

Sally's jaw dropped in astonished wonder. "The Great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know? He needs to talk to an actual person to find the information? Whatever is the world coming to?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered primly. "Why are you so shocked? You've seen me asking John what he thinks and I've even asked you or Lestrade on occasion. Did you think I did it to show you how idiotic you were?"

Sally cocked her head to the side and gazed at him steadily. "Yes, actually, I did think that. Do you mean you weren't?"

There was a light flush on Sherlock's cheekbones and he couldn't quite meet Sally's eyes. "Well, I was but I was also cataloging information to help me solve whatever case we were working on."

"Hunh," Sally grunted. "Learn something new every day, don't you? Do you want Dr. John to look at the vic or do you want to see Lestrade and the witness?"

Sherlock's lazy posture switched with a swiftness that boggled the mind to extreme alertness. "Witness? What witness? Lestrade didn't say anything about a witness when he texted. Name? Who is it? What did they see? Donovan! Answer me!"

Sally blinked at him for a moment as Sherlock looked ready to commit violence to obtain the information from her. "I would if you'd actually speak English, Freak."

"What?" Sherlock nearly took a step away from her in his surprise.

John laid a comforting hand on his back. "You were speaking too fast, Sherlock," he told him. "I'm the only person that can understand you when you speak that fast. Now, slow down and repeat what you said."

Sherlock huffed in irritation. "What do you know about the witness?" He directed to Sally.

Sally shrugged. "Nothing," she answered calmly. "I only know that there is one and Lestrade's talking to them."

Sherlock huffed again and then strode to the office door. "Then why are we standing here? Come along; let's go talk to this witness."

Sally and John shook their heads in exasperation and followed Sherlock into the small cramped office. Sally took one look at the two occupants and gasped in shock. "Ian?"


	3. The Suspect

**Disclaimer: I've had the kids pack what they wanted to take and we're renting a car to drive around the U.S. first. My daughter thinks Eros is closer to home than Siberia. That would be good. I think however that she just wants a road trip. My son doesn't care either way and is just happy to get away from home for a few months. So am I actually. So we're heading off tomorrow for wherever the road takes us. Until then, Sherlock and company aren't mine and I make no money from these stories.**

**A/N: Right so here's the new chapter of Innocent Artist. Hope you like it and I'm sorry for the long wait but…well RL is kinda busy sometimes. Stupid work. Stupid camps. Stupid kids. OK, so not really stupid just irritating.**

**The Suspect**

The dark haired man sitting in front of the standing Lestrade lifted his head and stared almost unseeing at the trio that entered the room. His dark green eyes were dull and blank. His face a mask of grief and shock.

"Ian?" Sally questioned again and got a blink from the man who had grown up in the house next to hers. "What's going on, Lestrade?" Not getting any reaction from her lifelong friend she turned to the DI.

Lestrade's grave brown eyes left the dark haired man's face and turned to his sergeant's. "Murder, Donovan. What's always going on?"

Sally scowled at him with snapping brown eyes. "Funny, Lestrade, real funny." She glared at him. "What the hell is going on? Why is Ian here? Did he see the body?"

The dark haired man slowly lifted his head and wounded green eyes locked on Sally's shocked brown ones. The man's lips tried to lift in a welcoming smile but they didn't quite manage it. "Heya Sal," the voice was rough and stricken. "How's t-tricks?" He stuttered out.

Sherlock snorted but John grabbed his hand and squeezed in warning. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his husband but stayed silent as Sally's eyes shifted from Ian to Lestrade and back again. "What's going on?" She asked the room faintly.

Sherlock snorted again and John squeezed harder on his hand. "Ow!" Sherlock growled at him. "Leave off, John. I wasn't going to say anything. Even I can tell she's too shocked to appreciate my insults."

Lestrade scowled at Sherlock but otherwise ignored the duo lingering at the door. "I'd forgotten that you knew, Mr. Brody, Donovan." He murmured. "You're going to have to leave the scene. Conflict of interest."

Sally glared at him and put one hand on Ian's shoulder in comfort. "What are you talking about, Lestrade?" She hissed. "How is my knowing Ian a conflict of interest in the case? You can't possibly believe he had anything to do with this!"

Ian shook his head at her with a small frown. "Sal, it's okay," he tried to reassure her. "I understand. I found R-r-robert," he drew a shuddering breath. "I found him and called the police. That makes me at the very least a witness."

Sally transferred her glare to him. "No!" She exclaimed. "I know that look on the DI's face, Ian. He thinks you killed that man!"

"Donovan!" Lestrade barked out. "You know very well that I don't make assumptions before I have the facts and I haven't any facts aside from a dead body as yet." His brown eyes matched hers glare for glare.

Sally seemed to search the room for inspiration and her eyes lit on Sherlock. They snapped back to Lestrade filled with fire. "Isn't that why you called the Freak here? Maybe we should find out what he's deduced."

"Sally!" Ian protested, aghast. "Don't call people names. Especially when they're supposed to help."

Sally and Sherlock both stared at him in something like confusion. "What?" Sally asked quietly.

Ian shook his head and stood from the chair before offering his hand to Sherlock to shake. "I'd apologize for Sally but she'd probably hit me. Killian Brody," he informed him unnecessarily. "Unless I'm mistaken you are Sherlock Holmes." He tilted his head to the side. "You have the most amazing eyes."

"Dull," Sherlock sneered and grimaced at the hand Ian had held out to him. John poked him in the side and Sherlock gave the hand a perfunctory shake.

"Guess you hear that a lot," Ian said with an apologetic frown. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Holmes."

"If your main source of information on me was Sgt. Donovan then I am sure it was all insults," Sherlock said and then turned to Lestrade, dismissing Ian from his attention. "What have you got for me?"

Lestrade sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "Rude git," he muttered under his breath and Sherlock huffed a breath out in exasperation.

"Yes, yes, we all knew that already," he waved a hand in dismissal. "Terribly sorry for my rude manners, Mr. Brody. Now tell me what you know, Lestrade."

John chuffed out a sound that was half exasperation and half amusement. He took Sally's elbow and pulled her to a corner of the room motioning Ian to follow. "John Watson," he introduced himself and shook Ian's offered hand.

"Freak's better half," Sally elaborated.

"Sally," there was a note of warning in Ian's voice as he gave her a disapproving frown. "Don't call him that. It's mean."

Sally gave him a wide eyed look. "It's just a name," she protested. "He doesn't mind it anymore. I'm certainly not going to call him Sherlock, he'd have a heart attack."

Ian looked to John for assistance but the shorter man was convulsed in silent giggles. He saw Ian staring at him and drew a breath to compose himself. "Sorry," he eventually said. "Just had a vision of Sherlock's face if Sgt. Sally ever called him by his name."

Sally snickered for a moment before placing a hand on Ian's cheek and bringing his face around to look at her. "What happened, Ian?" She asked softly.

Ian rubbed at his green eyes with one hand and held hers in his other. "I don't know, Sal." He shrugged and shuddered.

John kept one eye on the couple in front of him and the other on his husband and the DI. Sherlock and Lestrade seemed to be in a deep discussion and so John gave his full attention to the pair in standing in front of him. "Just start at the beginning," he advised the dark haired man.

Ian gave the blond man a feeble smile. "Well, I was born on a cold winter's night in—"

"Ian!" Sally interrupted with a glare. "This is not a joke! And you were born in the summer." She took a deep breath and tilted her head to stare at the ceiling as though praying for patience. "Why were you here at the gallery and how did you find the victim?" She brought her head back down and stared at him.

Ian swallowed and his eyes glazed over for a moment. "I didn't expect to see him," he said faintly, "and certainly not looking like that. There was so much blood…so much blood." Ian swallowed again and John recognizing the signs grabbed the bin from beside the desk and held it in front of the other man with only instants to spare as Ian threw up.

Sally stroked his hair and John led the man to the chair when he'd finished. He passed the bin to Sally and took Ian's wrist between his fingers. "Take that out before it sets him off again," he told her. "Pulse is elevated." He tilted Ian's head up. "Pupils are dilated. Grab a blanket, would you, Sgt. Sally? He's in a bit of shock."

"Of course, Dr. John," Sally fled the room with the bin and the door clicked closed behind her.


	4. The Case

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Why do you keep expecting something different? The first step towards insanity is doing the exact same thing and expecting different results, you know.**

**A/N: Just so everyone knows I detest being sick. I can't think, I can't find the proper keys on the keyboard and so my writing goes splat. Anyway hope this chapter is acceptable. Let me know either way.**

**The Case**

Greg kept one eye on the trio across the room and the other on the genius in front of him as he explained what they'd gleaned so far. His gut told him the young man currently puking into a garbage bin was innocent but until he had concrete proof he had to keep him on the short list.

"You really don't think he did it, do you?" Sherlock's smug tone cut across his musings. Greg shrugged, not ready to clear the man yet. "His reactions make it obvious that he doesn't have the stomach for murder, Lestrade."

"He could just be reacting to his first kill or he could be a very good actor, Sher," Greg pointed out reluctantly.

Sherlock waved those ideas away impatiently and speared Lestrade with his eerie gray eyes. "Just tell me the rest, if you please." His voice had become cutting and irritated.

Greg knew that Sherlock was irritated because he thought that Greg wasn't listening. He was, in fact, and he agreed with Sherlock but they needed proof. "Right so, the vic was apparently attacked from behind. There are no defensive wounds. So it had to be someone he knew and trusted enough to turn his back on."

"Obvious," Sherlock sneered in disgust.

"Time of death is between eight and ten this evening," Greg continued unperturbed. "The gallery closes at eight and Mr. Brody called the emergency line at a little after ten. He claims that he did touch the body as it was lying face down and he was afraid that Mr. Chatham had suffered a heart attack or some other injury."

Sherlock snorted and shook his head in seeming despair. "Really Lestrade? That's all you've worked out so far?"

Greg sent him a mild glare. "The attacker was shorter than the vic and so far there are no eyewitnesses. Only Mr. Brody who claims to have stumbled on the body after the killer had already fled."

Sherlock scoffed and then turned towards the trio across the room. He noticed that Sgt. Sally had wrapped the witness in a shock blanket and was running a soothing hand down his back. Unresolved feelings for a suspect then. Unfortunate but he could work around Sally's overprotective tendencies. "He calm enough yet, John?" Sherlock asked though he already knew the answer.

"As long as you're nice," John shot back with a hard look.

Sherlock scowled but nodded at him before moving across the floor to stand in front of the seated artist. "Mr. Brody?" Sherlock asked in as soft a voice as he could muster.

The dark head lifted and grass green eyes rose to his. "Yeah…or at least I was the last time I looked in the mirror. It could have changed since then. Call me Ian, everyone does after all."

Sherlock frowned for a moment and then nodded. "Can you tell me what happened tonight?" He asked with a quick glance at John to make sure he was being nice enough.

"I…" Ian swallowed hard and Sally shot a furious look at Sherlock. "I came by to drop off a…a painting for the show next week. I'd had all my others sent ahead in crates but I brought that one with me."

"Why?" Sherlock's voice whipped out at him. "Why that one painting?"

Ian blinked and tilted his head. "Um…because I wanted to? What's that got to do with anything?"

Sherlock snorted in derision. "It gives you a reasonable excuse to have come by the gallery this evening. Why is that one painting so important that you would take it on your flight with you instead of sending it ahead?"

Ian blinked again. "Not so much important," he demurred. "More like it wasn't finished when I sent the others. I hadn't actually planned to bring it here tonight but the gallery is on the way between my hotel and Sally's flat. I was headed to visit her and since the gallery was right on the way it just made sense to bring it tonight."

Sherlock studied the green eyed man and then nodded. "How did you gain entrance to the building?"

"I called Robert from the hotel about seven thirty to let him know that I'd be by but not until after the gallery would be closed. He s-s-said it would be f-f-fine and he'd leave the side door open for me." Ian stopped again and swallowed. "Is that how they got in? Is it my fault? I should have just waited until tomorrow."

"We don't know, at this time, exactly how the assailant entered the gallery," Greg said as comfortingly as he could. "We're sure to find out soon though."

Ian nodded absently, his green eyes swimming in tears that he wouldn't allow himself to shed. "Anyway," he cleared his throat. "I came in the side door and called out Robert's name. He didn't answer so I checked his office but he wasn't here. I thought I heard a tapping noise from the gallery so I headed there to see if Robert was hanging one of the paintings by himself. I—"

"A tapping sound?" Sally asked. "What kind of tapping sound, Ian? Like someone knocking on the glass door? Like a hammer? What?"

Ian shook his head and stared at her in confusion. "I've no idea," he eventually said. "Just a tapping. I'm into visual arts not audio, Sals. Want me to go on?"

John reached out and took Ian's wrist between his fingers before he nodded to the others. "Pulse is still elevated but not dangerously."

Ian gave him a mild glare and John just smiled. "I saw Robert lying on the floor in the middle of the gallery. I…His doctor had told him to take it easy. The stress, you see. I ran over to see if he was alright and when I turned him on his back…I saw…I saw…the bl-blood, so much blood." Ian's voice trailed off as his face took on a tinge of green again.

"Which is your dominant hand?" Sherlock asked and ignored the confused looks he received from everyone in the room. He let out a breath in a put upon sigh. "It's important. Which one, Brody?" He demanded.

Ian shook his head as though to clear away the memory of the tragedy. "I don't have one, Mr. Holmes. I use both."

Sherlock arched one eyebrow at him and then spun around to begin pacing the room while the others waited in silence. Suddenly Sherlock's hand flashed out and a pen came sailing out of it towards Ian. Ian reached up to catch it with both hands. "Right is dominant then," Sherlock nodded. "Thought so. Same as around ninety percent of the rest of the world's population."

"He caught it with both hands, Freak," Sally pointed out with her teeth clenched in anger and frustration.

"His right hand moved faster than his left," Sherlock brushed her off. "Whoever murdered Mr. Chatham was left handed. Now, your friend here could have done it but instinctively he would have used his right hand." He swung around and stared at Ian for a moment. "Stand up, Brody!" He ordered.

"Pardon?" Ian blinked up at him and frowned, confused.

Sherlock, impatient as ever, simply grabbed his bicep and hauled him to his feet. He appraised the slightly shorter man for a moment, then nodded and released him. "You're too tall."

"Pardon?" Ian asked again. "I don't understand."

"Not surprising," Sherlock sneered. "People rarely do." He stalked away out of the room towards the display area of the gallery and the body.

"Translation?" Greg asked John.

"Mr. Brody has the wrong dominate hand and he's too tall to have committed the murder," John told him easily.

"Why didn't he just say that?" Sally whined and started to follow the tall Consulting Detective.

"He's Sherlock," Greg answered with a shrug. "Stay with Mr. Brody won't you, John? At least until Sherlock makes too much of a nuisance of himself. We've got more questions for Mr. Brody but they can wait a bit."

John grinned. "Sure. Have one of the PCs bring me a glass of water and maybe some crackers."

Greg nodded and closed the door to the office.


	5. Ian and Sally

**Disclaimer: Right, we all know already that none of the characters belong to me…well, except Ian as always. Ian is a figment of my imagination. A very nice figment but still only imaginary. I make no money off this story or any of the others I've written for this site. Wish I did then I'd quit my job and write full time. My imagination has loads to say. Anyway I think that's enough for this disclaimer.**

**A/N: I know it's been awhile since I updated this one. I'm a horrible person. Oh well. Anyway here's the next chapter.**

**Ian and Sally**

Lestrade caught up with Sally and Sherlock just before they entered the main part of the gallery where the body was. He placed a hand on Sally's shoulder to stop her and nodded to Sherlock to continue into the room. "Donovan," he started softly.

She made a cutting motion with one hand and shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "No," she hissed. "I don't want to hear it. I am not going home to sit and stew in my worries. You can't make me leave, Lestrade. This is important."

Lestrade took one of her biceps in his hand and turned her to face him. He gripped both of her arms so she couldn't turn away again. "Donovan," he began again. "Sally, you know you can't work this case. No. Stop." He commanded when she started to reply. "You know you can't. I don't think your boy did it but until we have hard evidence he's still a suspect. I know," he cut her off again. "Sherlock's deductions are gold. Brody didn't kill Robert Chatham. However, until the coroner's reports come back with an estimate of the killer's height he stays on the suspect list. That's how it works. You know this." He squeezed her arms in comfort. "Now, even though you can't work the case you can help John and stay with Brody. Tell yourself you're keeping an eye on him if you need to. Just stay away from the scene. Got it?"

Sally nodded miserably. She didn't like this feeling of uselessness. "Yes, sir," she whispered. "I'll go help Dr. John."

Sudden loud voices from the gallery had Lestrade wincing. "On second thought, take John and Brody a bottle of water and some crackers and then send John out here. Keep an eye on Brody and don't let him leave until I come get you."

Sally let a small smile cross her lips as the voices rose even more. "Sure thing," she nodded. "He'd be the only one who can keep the Freak from murdering Anderson. Not that Anderson doesn't deserve it but Dr. John would be sad if he lost his husband to a murder charge."

Lestrade chuffed out a small laugh. "He would be at that. Not to mention Joanne killing me for letting it happen and then there's Ben and Colleen and Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson." He stopped and blinked for a moment. "You should probably hurry."

Sally giggled helplessly. "Poor DI Lestrade. So many people after his blood when he messes up." She squeezed one of his hands. "Thank you, sir. I'll go get the crackers and water now."

"What are you thanking me for?" Lestrade asked in genuine confusion. "I didn't do anything."

Sally shook her head, gave his hand one last squeeze and headed for the bag that held supplies of water and snacks for the coppers milling around the scene. Lestrade had never understood exactly what he did for all of them simply by being himself.

HVHVHVHVHVHVHVHV

The door clicked closed as Dr. John left the office. Silence filled the room and Sally looked anywhere but at her erstwhile friend. It had been so long since she'd seen him. This was more awkward than she'd thought it would be.

"This is not what I'd had planned for this evening, Sals," Ian's ironic voice reached out across the years, distance and the room they both occupied.

"Really," Sally drawled, finally turning to look at him. His green eyes caught her brown ones and suddenly the time no longer mattered. "What did you have planned then, Ian?"

Ian smirked a bit. "Drop off the painting, grab a six-pack, maybe grab a movie if there were any that looked good and drop by your flat to surprise you."

Sally let out a small laugh. That plan was classic Ian. "It would have worked too," she admitted. "I didn't think you'd be here for a few more days."

Ian smiled one of his most charming smiles. "I did say that I wanted to surprise you, didn't I?" His smile faded and he looked around the office with a vaguely lost look. "I just didn't expect…I mean…Robert's a friend. _Was _a friend. Who could possibly want to hurt him…t-to k-k-kill him?"

Overcome with memories of their shared childhood and doomed romance Sally couldn't stop herself from kneeling in front of him and cupping his face in her hands. "Freak'll figure it out, Ian," she assured him. "He's good at this. Brilliant, in fact, but don't ever tell him I said that. His ego's big enough."

Ian laughed a watery laugh. "So you've said before." He covered her hands with his own and let himself fall into her brown eyes.

"Ian," she whispered and then shook her head. "As much as I think we should talk about our relationship we've other things to worry over at the moment."

Ian closed his eyes on a sigh. "Sals, you always think something else is more important than talking about us." He leaned away from her and frowned. "I've waited for ten years, Sals. Ten years for you to wake up. I wasn't in love with you because that's what our mothers wanted. I wasn't in love with you because it was expected. I was, am, in love with you because you are the other part of me and you have been my whole life."

Sally stood up and paced behind the desk before collapsing in the chair. "Ian," she sighed. "I said I'd give us another shot. Just…take it slow, yeah? I'm a cop, Ian. You're a suspect in a murder case, for the moment anyway. At the moment we do have bigger things to deal with than us."

Ian leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and studied the woman behind the desk with a critical eye. "Fine," he finally conceded. "If you promise to talk about this as soon as I'm cleared." Sally nodded reluctantly. "You look good, by the way."

Another classic Ian moved, Sally recognized even as she was startled into a laugh. "Thanks," she grinned at him. "I like your new style. Black turtlenecks and slacks are much better than paint splattered t-shirts and hanging-on-by-a-thread denims."

Ian grinned back. "I still wear those more often than not but I figured I should try to make a good impression tonight."

Sally's smile widened. She opened her mouth to reply only lose her words as the door flew open hard enough to bounce with a bang against the wall. A blond blur flung itself from the reverberating door onto Ian. "Oh Ian! What's happening? There are cops everywhere! What's happened? Answer me!" A female voice babbled.

Ian calmly, too calmly for Sally's piece of mind, pried the blond loose from his neck and set her away from him. "Hello Bailey," he said quietly. "How did you get in?"


	6. Bailey

**Disclaimer: Ok, give me the Lestrade and everyone can go home safe. What do you mean you're already at home? What?! That is so unfair. Fine, give me the Lestrade and everyone can go to work safe. What do you mean you're going to call in sick then? Dammit! Why? Why will you not let me have the Lestrade? *sulks* Fine. The characters aren't mine and neither is the money. I will find a way though. I swear I will.**

**A/N: Right so…huhn…again? I've got nothing to say. Well, that's a pickle isn't it? Oh well, you probably don't want to read my ramblings anyway. You want to read the story I wrote. Er, isn't that my ramblings as well? Who cares? On with the story!**

**Bailey**

Sally Donovan had never considered herself a jealous woman. She normally never had a problem with having her significant other looking at or touching other women. She was secure in herself and her relationships, usually. But watching the way this blond harlot was hanging all over her…boyfriend? Old flame? Ex? Whatever Ian was to her now was making her see red and long to pound on the other woman until her perfect teeth were loosened and she was bleeding and unconscious on the floor.

She watched with a wary eye as Ian gently pried the woman from his neck and wiped at her tears with his thumbs. She heard him murmur something to her and then the woman took a shuddering breath and gave Ian a tremulous smile.

"You told me earlier today that you were going to drop off _Ginger_ tonight, silly," she gave a light laugh. "I thought I'd catch you before you left and we could go clubbing or to dinner. You still need to sign those papers for Blaine and I have them." She made to stand up but fell back with a cry of surprise when she saw Sally. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologized to both Ian and Sally. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Only a murder investigation," Sally growled. She could hear pounding steps in the hallway. "Now how did you get into the building?" If PC Chelton had left her post to snog Anderson again the PC was going to learn exactly why people didn't piss off Sgt. Sally Donovan.

"Murder investi…investigation?" The blond repeated weakly and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted straight into Ian's lap and arms.

"Great job, Sals," Ian glared at her. "Bailey's delicate. You shouldn't have told her about Robert that way." He hefted the woman into a sitting position and started patting at her cheek. "Wake up, Bailey. C'mon, wake up," he crooned.

Two of the constables chose that moment to burst into the office with Lestrade, Dr. John and the Freak hot on their heels. "We're sorry, Sgt. She got past us at the side door." The taller of the two PCs told her.

Sally gave them the evil eye before turning her attention to the trio waiting just outside the doorway. "I have no idea who she is," she told Lestrade. "Mr. Brody seems to though."

Ian felt like cringing as six pairs of eyes took in the scene of him with Bailey laying across his lap. This was so not how he'd wanted this night to turn out. "Her name is Bailey Andrews. She's my agent's partner and twin sister. Blaine and Bailey started the company together. Blaine runs the business end and Bailey takes care of their clients' needs."

"What is she doing here?" John asked as he pushed his way past his husband, Greg and the PCs. "And what happened to her?"

Ian frowned as John grabbed Bailey's wrist and then shook his head. "I don't know, actually. Well, I know she fainted. I don't know why she's here though."

"Any medical conditions I should be aware of?" John asked in a professional tone.

Ian shook his head again. "Not that I know of. I mean, she's a bit high strung but I don't think that's a medical condition."

John nodded thoughtfully and then lifted the woman's head and checked it for bumps that could have caused her to black out. He didn't think he'd find any. "What happened just before she passed out?" He asked. Everyone except Ian and John had remained silent while John preformed his quick examination.

"I told her she was interrupting a murder investigation," Sally sniffed and glared at the unconscious woman. "Then she just fainted."

"Probably just a bit of a shock then," John mused aloud. "She should be all right. Let's see if we can get her to wake up. Bailey," he called softly and gently tapped at her cheek. "Bailey, it's time to wake up."

Sky blue eyes blinked open and the woman shivered. "What…what happened?" She croaked out. "Where's Ian?" She suddenly fought frantically against the arms holding her. "Ian!"

"I'm right here, Bailey," Ian soothed and held her struggling form tighter. "I've got you."

Sally sniffed again and Sherlock smirked at her. She scowled back at him. John left the couple on the chair and took his husband's hand in his own with a hard look. "Be nice," he whispered.

"It's hardly my fault Sgt. Donovan's being irrationally jealous." Sherlock whispered back just loud enough for Lestrade, Sally, the PCs and John to hear. "Mr. Brody is not in any way involved with Ms. Andrews. It's obvious that his feelings for her are anything but romantic."

Sally felt herself relax. She hated that she believed the Freak every single bloody time. But past experience had proven that he was right far more often than he was wrong.

The blond woman started sobbing hysterically. "Who got killed?" She wailed. "In the gallery? Why? Who was it, Ian? Please don't let it be anyone we know!" She buried her head in Ian's chest and wailed louder.

Ian looked over to Sally with a lost look. She shrugged. "For Heaven's sake," Sherlock burst out. "Just tell her already so she'll stop that infernal wailing."

"And if she passes out again?" Ian accused harshly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John _is_ here. He _is _a doctor. I'm quite sure he can deal with any hysterical fainting fits."

"You're a bit of an ass, you know," Ian told him calmly. "Fine. Bailey," he took the woman's shoulders in his hands and pushed her back to look into her face. "Bailey, listen to me."

The blond stood trembling in Ian's hands and hung her head. "It-it's Blaine, isn't it? Oh God! I told him I had everything under control! I told him to go to his meeting in Italy and…and now he's dead!" She brought her hands up and covered her face while sobs shook her slender frame.

Sherlock let out a growl that sounded a lot like "Fuck this", shook John's hands off of his arm and strode forward. He pushed Ian's hand off Bailey's shoulder, turned the blond around and slapped her. "Now will you shut up and listen?" He hissed. "Your brother is fine. Now answer the questions the constables have for you and then you can find out who our victim is."

Blue eyes blazed into gray. "I'm going to sue you for assaulting me," she hissed at him before drawing in a deep breath and turning to face the rest of the room and ignoring Sherlock. "What do you want to ask me?" She asked the room.

"Sherlock!" John growled.

Lestrade ushered the PCs back to their posts, glared at Sherlock and then moved to stand in front of Bailey so that he could question her.

Sally shook her head, gave Sherlock a bland look and said, "Good shot, Freak. Her wailing was giving me a headache."

"Always happy to serve," Sherlock mocked her gently.


	7. Headaches

**Disclaimer: No! No! Don't touch that! You'll get electrocuted. And don't touch my adjustment apparatus. No, it's not a hammer. I'm going to get this time machine working if it kills me. I said it's not a hammer! It's an adjustment apparatus! A few more adjustments and I'll be able to own the characters from the Sherlock Holmes universe. For now I don't.**

**Headaches**

"So who is Bailey exactly?" Sally tried to sound casual as she drove Ian back to his hotel after Lestrade had released them.

Ian looked down at the hands clasped in his lap to hide his smirk at her ill-concealed jealousy. "Bailey's a friend I guess," he told her evenly.

Sally nearly growled. That was not what she wanted to hear. "That is not what I meant, Ian," she said as blandly as she could manage. "I meant what does she do? And what do you mean, 'you guess'? She's your friend or she isn't."

Ian sighed. "Blaine is my friend, Sals. Bailey is his sister. It's complicated. Bailey's job is to meet with the artists that Blaine's company represents and make sure they have what they need."

Sally did growl this time. "I still don't understand what that means, Ian."

Ian shook his head. "I don't know what more you want me to say, Sals. Bailey is Blaine's partner. He sets up the showings and she meets with gallery owners to make sure the lighting is right or that the invitations have been properly addressed or that the artists have enough paint or charcoal or canvas or anyone of a hundred other things." He turned his head and stared out at the rain soaked night. "She's a sweet kid and she didn't deserve to find out about Robert like that."

Sally blinked and heaved a sigh of her own. "You wanna swing by the hospital and check on her before I take you to the hotel?" Dr. John had been forced to call the paramedics and have Bailey sedated after her short talk with Detective Inspector Lestrade. The young woman had begun hyperventilating again and had fainted. The paramedics had transported her to the hospital with Dr. John riding along to keep an eye on her and be able to report back on her condition.

Ian tore his gaze from the rain and looked at Sally with hope in his eyes. "Would it be possible? I'd really like to be able to tell Blaine that she'll be fine when I call him."

Sally shrugged. "I don't see why not," she made a sharp left and headed for the hospital. "Dr. John should be there and he'll let us know how she's doing."

"Thanks, Sals," Ian breathed out. "Wait. Why would Dr. Watson still be at the hospital with Bailey?"

Sally smirked. "Cuz he's Dr. John," she answered as though that was all she needed to say. After a few moments of silence she decided to stop torturing Ian. "He knew the paramedics personally which means that he called the hospital where he works sometimes. They know him and they trust him which means they'll let him call the shots for Bailey's care. Dr. John has a lot of pull in certain circles. He's a really good doctor who happens to be married to the world's only consulting detective. It doesn't hurt matters that he's also a decorated war hero and his brother-in-law is the British Government," Sally  
giggled. "Excuse me; his brother-in-law has a minor place in the Government."

Ian stared at her jaw agape for a moment before he clicked it closed with a snap. "You know the strangest people, Sals."

Sally threw her head back and laughed. "You don't know the half of it, believe me."

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

Sally flagged down one of the nurses as soon as she and Ian had stepped through the doors of the hospital. She flashed her badge and asked the nurse where they could find Dr. John Watson and Ms. Bailey Andrews. The nurse pointed them down a hallway and Sally thanked her politely. She collected Ian and led him towards the room where they would find Bailey and Dr. John.

Sally could hear Sherlock's strident tones long before she found the room holding Bailey, Dr. John, Sherlock, DI Lestrade and to her shock, Anderson. Why in God's name had Anderson come to the hospital with the others? She'd known Dr. John would be there and more than half expected Sherlock and Lestrade but Anderson had no reason to be there.

She tapped on the door and both Dr. John and Lestrade turned to look at her. Dr. John jerked his head at them and Lestrade nodded. He walked out into the hallway and put his hands in his pockets with a questioning frown.

"Ian wanted to know how she was doing," Sally told him in a defensive tone. Lestrade only raised an eyebrow. "Fine," Sally grumbled. "You know how I hate being kept out of the loop."

Lestrade smirked and switched his attention to the man standing anxiously by Sally's side. "She'll be fine, Mr. Brody. John says she calmed right down in the ambulance but started to freak out again when we showed up. He's trying to figure out how to keep her calm enough for us to question her."

"Why do you need to question her?" Ian asked with genuine curiosity. "She wasn't anywhere near the gallery. There was no way she could have seen what had happened to Robert."

Lestrade gave Ian a level look. "She slipped past two of my PCs and into a building covered with crime scene tape. At the very least we need to find out why she was there this evening."

Ian nodded dumbly. He would be the first to admit that he knew very little about police procedures but it still sounded strange to him. "Can we…I see her?" He asked timidly.

Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache and Sally reached into her pocket for the paracetamol that she always carried with her. "I'll ask John," Lestrade said after some thought. Sally held out two of the tablets and he took them. "Thanks, Donovan."

"You need to get yourself checked out by a doctor, Lestrade," Sally told him seriously. "You're always getting headaches."

Lestrade barked out a short laugh. "You sound like Jo and John, come to think of it. I'll make an appointment on Monday, all right?"

"I'll make you an appointment _for_ Monday," Sally told him stubbornly. "And I'll tell your wife, the Freak and Dr. John about it so that you can't weasel out of it." She held up her hand when he made a furious face at her. "Be glad I'm not calling in the Government. He'd have his assistant kidnap you to one of his secret facilities tonight."

"Tell us what, Sgt. Sally?" John asked as he poked his head out of the room to call them in.

"That Lestrade has an appointment on Monday to get his headaches checked out," Sally answered promptly.

"Christ!" Lestrade exclaimed rubbing harder at the bridge of his nose. "Can we forget about my headaches for the moment and focus on the murder investigation?" He glared at both John and Sally until they both nodded reluctantly. "Can we question Ms. Andrews yet?"

"Sure," John nodded. "She said she wanted Mr. Brody here to help her remain calm and he's here now."

Lestrade nodded and disappeared into the hospital room quickly followed by Ian. John glanced over at Sally. "Bring him by here on Monday before lunch," he told her. "I'm working so I'll take care of his appointment."

Sally nodded and they quickly tailed Ian and Lestrade to Bailey's bedside.


	8. Bailey's Interview

**Disclaimer: Gah! I can't seem to get my time machine to work no matter what I do. Anyone got some of that sand from the Time Turners? I'll pay you in homemade cookies. Characters are not mine and I'm still poor.**

**A/N: For some reason this is one of the hardest stories I've ever written. It's like it just doesn't want to be written and I have to fight for every word. I hope it's not coming out as boring as I think it is. I'm not going to give up on it though. I will persevere. Here's your next chapter.**

**Bailey's Interview**

Ian stood next to the hospital bed with Bailey's hand wrapped around his own. Her wide, frightened blue eyes darted around the room as though searching the corners for any would be assassin. Tears leaked a steady stream from those eyes and Sally felt the insane urge to sneer at her obvious play for attention.

She turned her head and caught Dr. John commiserating smile. "I know. There's something a bit off about her," he whispered in her ear. "She's got Anderson eating out of her hand and Greg too, though not as much."

Sally turned her head back to take in the scene playing out by the bed. Anderson was standing across from Ian and moving from glaring at him to making simpering noises to the blond on the bed. Ian was ignoring everyone in the room except Bailey. Lestrade stood at the foot with a frown on his face as he watched the other two men. The Freak stood next to Lestrade with a glare for the blond. Part of Sally rejoiced in this. She was glad at least one, well two, of the men hadn't been taken in by a pretty face.

The Freak must have felt her gaze for he turned and met it with his eerie gray eyes. He nodded and nudged Lestrade who seemed to shake off some kind of confusion. Lestrade looked at the Freak and then turned to the woman on the bed. "Ms. Andrews?" He interrupted politely. "Are you ready to answer some questions?"

Watery blue eyes left Ian and turned to the DI. "Of…of c-course I am, sir," she seemed to attempt to sit up straighter. "I…I don't know why I'm s-so upset. I barely k-knew Robert. But he seemed very nice. I-I can't believe he's d-d-dead." More tears fell.

Sherlock grimaced and moved to stand next to John and Sally. "Less idiocy over here," he claimed quietly. "Can't they see?"

Sally smirked at the backhanded compliment even as John shushed him so he could hear what they were saying better.

"Can you tell us why you were at the gallery tonight, Ms. Andrews?" Lestrade asked. "It's not exactly pleasant outside."

Bailey's eyes wheeled again. "I-I haven't been to London in years," she explained haltingly. "I wanted to go to a club I knew and I didn't want to go alone. Ian said he was dropping a painting off at the gallery. I wanted to catch him and ask him to go with me."

"Bailey," Ian sighed. "I also told you I was meeting an old friend after I finished at the gallery."

Bailey's lower lips stuck out in a pout. "He could have come with us. I wouldn't have minded a friend of yours hanging out with us."

Ian rubbed the bridge of his nose and Sally automatically reached for her pocket and the bottle of paracetamol. Sherlock's snicker had her stopping as she shook out two tablets. "Christ," she muttered. "I'm Pavalov's dog."

Everyone let out light chuckles at the lightening of the atmosphere from Sally's comment. "I don't have a headache, Sals, but thanks for the offer," Ian said. "Bailey my old friend I was going to visit is a girl. I was going to see Sals."

"Her?" The blond on the bed screeched. "Bu-but why, Ian? How did you come to know a cop? What's so special about her?"

"Did the old friend part just totally pass you by?" Sally asked snidely. "We grew up together."

"There's no need to get snippy about it," Bailey gave her a scowl. "I've had a shock and I'm not at my best at the moment." She brought one hand up to her cheek. "I must look a fright. I hate crying like that it makes me all blotchy. Ian, be a dear and hand me my purse?"

"Ms. Andrews," Lestrade interrupted her babbling. "If we could get back to the reason we're all here for the moment. You look fine, by the way."

Bailey blushed prettily. "Thank you, Detective." She smiled at him with just a glint of perfectly white, straight teeth. "What else did you want to ask me?"

Lestrade cleared his throat roughly. "How well did you know the victim, Ms. Andrews?" He asked.

"It's no wonder the Psychopath calls you an idiot, Lestrade," Anderson sneered. "Ms. Andrews just told us all that she barely knew Robert Chatham."

"Now, Mr…um, I'm sorry I can't recall your name," Bailey said.

"Anderson, Dr. Humphrey Anderson, at your service," Anderson said in what he thought was a suave tone and sketched a clumsy bow.

"Ooo," Bailey cooed. "A doctor? How very intriguing. What kind of doctor are you Dr. Anderson? I'm sure if you're attached to the police it must be very glamorous and exciting."

Anderson flushed and shuffled his feet a bit while giving the blond a dopey smile. "Not so much and I'm a forensic specialist."

"Oooo, wow," Bailey cooed again. "Just like in the TV shows. How very exciting! You simply must tell me all about it." She frowned as she looked around the room. "After I get out of here of course." She turned her attention back to Anderson. "You can take me out to dinner tomorrow and tell me all about your work, okay?"

Anderson opened his mouth to answer her when Lestrade cleared his throat loudly again. "He's married, Ms. Andrews and we've gotten off topic again," his voice had become a bit more filled with steel. "Now how did you come to meet Mr. Chatham? And Anderson? Don't forget that this interview is being recorded."

Bailey frowned in thought. "I've known Robert for years," she finally claimed. "I can't quite remember how we met but he's my brother's favorite gallery owner in London. Robert's always been very good to our artists and he's completely honest. Some owners try to undercut us, you see. But never Robert. But I don't know much about his personal life. I know he was married at one point but that went south. Blaine and I took him out and got him drunk the day he signed his divorce papers. He didn't want the divorce but his family forced him. Is that the kind of thing you wanted to know?"

Lestrade frowned and paced from the foot of the bed to the door and back again. "Do you know anyone who would want him dead, Ms. Andrews?"

Big blue eyes filled with tears again. "No," she drew a deep breath. "Everyone loved Robert. He was so sweet and kind. I can't think of anyone who would even want to see him hurt."

"No one?" Lestrade pressed. "His ex-wife? An artist that doesn't think he did such a wonderful job with their showing?"

"No," Bailey sobbed becoming hysterical once again. "There's no one!"

"Lestrade," Anderson barked. "Stop badgering the witness or I will report you to the Chief Superintendent! She's not ready to answer these questions and I believe that it is time we left."

"No, no, it's fine," Bailey protested. "Please. You don't need to leave, Humphrey. I don't want to be alone right now. I can answer some more questions."

"I have a question for you, Ms. Andrews," Sherlock stepped up to the foot of the bed, placed his hands on the railing and leaned forward so that he was looking the sobbing woman in the eye. "Why did you kill Robert Chatham?"


	9. Evidence

**Disclaimer: They are not mine. To be truthful at this point I don't even want Ian anymore. I'll still take Greg if he's up for sale. I'll always take Greg. Oh, right. I'm poor so BBC will just have to give him to me for free. One can always dream.**

**A/N: There's maybe one or two chapters left to this story. I don't really care if you hate it. I don't like it much either though that's because all of the characters are being reluctant and boring. I'm fairly sure they'll pick up for the next story though. I just wanted to get Ian into the Honey 'Verse cuz Sally needs someone besides Anderson. I'm a romantic, I know. Anyway, let me know what you think, even if you think this is a crap story.**

**Evidence**

Sally's first reaction to Sherlock's question was to dance a jig and shout out in triumph. Bailey was no longer an obstacle to her relationship with Ian. She didn't do it, if only because Ian wouldn't like it. She did allow herself a small smile before blanking her expression though. She didn't think anyone except the Freak and Dr. John would have seen it though. She knew they'd both understand and wouldn't comment on it though. "Freak? How do you know she did it?" She asked into the shouting that had followed the brief silence.

Sherlock ignored her and kept his light blue eyes on the brighter ones of the woman on the hospital bed.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing, Psychopath?" Anderson yelled. "There is no way this young woman had anything to do with that man's death! She was hysterical when she found out he'd been murdered. That is not a reaction that a murderess would have!"

Sherlock ignored him as well. He knew his stare was unnerving her. She would crack and confess long before he blinked.

John merely sighed and leaned against the wall by the door. He knew very well that Bailey was the murderer. Her reaction was so overblown and the way she had calmed so easily once they'd placed her in the ambulance was suspicious. So he just accepted his husband's words and sat back to watch the fireworks.

Lestrade looked from the quivering woman on the bed to the consulting detective and back again. "Damn," he muttered. "Not that I'm doubting you, because I'm not, but where's the evidence, Sher?"

"The tapping," Ian said slowly before Sherlock had a chance to answer. "It was her shoes on the wooden floor. And Bailey's left handed." He tilted his head to the side in thought for a moment and then his eyes opened wide and he backed away from the hospital bed. "How did you know the side door was open, Bailey? You said you came there after I did, after the murder happened. So how did you know that door wasn't locked?"

Bailey finally ended the staring contest with Sherlock to turn her attention to Ian. "Don't be angry with me Ian," she begged. "I did it for you, you see? Only for you." Tears once again streamed down her face. "Please don't be mad at me."

Ian backed farther away from her, his back finally bumping against the wall. "What do you mean you did it for me?"

Bailey lifted a hand out to him. "Ian?" She asked timorously. "Please come back over here. Ian? Please? I only wanted what would make you happy. I swear. It was for you."

Anderson caught one of her hands in his and squeezed it. "Ms. Andrews, you're in shock. You don't know what you're saying. Calm down now. Everything will be fine."

Bailey ripped her hand away and glared at him. "I don't want you touching me! You're creepy looking. I want Ian! Ian, I'm sorry. I didn't…He was being so horrible. Robert was awful and no one saw it. No one cared what he was going to do to you. Only me. Ian, please! You have to listen to me." She reached her hand out towards him again.

Ian swallowed hard and then stepped forward and took her hand in his. "Okay, Bay, I'm not mad but I need you to tell me why you killed Robert."

Sally made a distressed sound in the back of her throat and an aborted attempt to stop Ian but John put a hand on her shoulder and held her back. "It's all right, Sgt. Sally. Ian can handle this. He'll be fine. Sherlock's right there and so is Greg. They'll keep him safe."

Sally nodded reluctantly and clenched her fists by her sides. If the woman on the bed made a single wrong move Sally was going to happy bash her face in.

Anderson glared at the man who had stolen Bailey's attention from him. "You can't actually believe she did it!" He shouted. "A woman like Ms. Andrews clearly isn't capable of such a heinous act."

Bailey's head snapped around and her fierce blue eyes burned into his. "Did you just call me stupid?" She hissed out.

Anderson, suddenly very afraid of the woman on the bed, backed away. He'd seen eyes like that before. He couldn't remember the features of the man or men that had those hazel eyes but he remembered the burning in them and the pain the man or men had caused each time he'd seen them before.

"Bailey," Ian called to her. "Bailey, ignore him. Come on, talk to me, Bailey," he soothed. "You need to finish telling me what happened with Robert."

Those blue eyes swung back to lock on his green ones. "He was being mean," Bailey pouted. "Just like Blaine's being. Robert wouldn't listen to me. I told him that _Gripped_ needed to be placed in the center. Just like I knew you'd want it. But he insisted that _Bedlam_ should be the center of the show. I tried really hard to convince him, Ian," she said earnestly. "I begged him and I pleaded with him. I told him you'd be angry that _Gripped_ was being shunted off to the side but he wouldn't listen to me. Just like Blaine won't listen when I tell him that you love me. So I made sure that Robert would listen to me next time. It was just a little cut but now he listens to me. Blaine will understand. He always does."

Ian felt the icy cold fingers of terror grip his heart. "B-bailey," he stuttered. "What do you mean that Blaine will understand? Does Blaine know what you did to Robert?"

Bailey giggled. "Of course not, silly. Blaine's in Italy. I'll just tell him that Robert was mean and he slipped and fell and died." She shrugged. "It worked when Stacy died. She was so mean to me. I hated her and Blaine wouldn't listen to me. He wanted to marry her and I couldn't let that happen. She wanted to have me put in a hospital. I'm not sick." She looked around the room and then blushed. "Well, I mean I am right now, because of Robert and all but normally I'm not sick. Ian, you'll tell Blaine you love me right? When you call him and tell him that Robert fell?"

Ian swallowed hard again and took a deep breath. He turned pleading eyes on Lestrade and the older man nodded. "I'll talk to him, Bailey, but for now, why don't you go to sleep? You've had a hard day."

John immediately stepped forward and injected something into the IV drip attached to Bailey that had her eyes drifting closed within seconds. He squeezed Ian's shoulder as he passed him and Ian gave him a wan smile.

"Take Mr. Brody back to his hotel, Donovan." Lestrade ordered. "Come by the station in the morning for your statement, Brody."

Ian nodded even as Sally took his elbow and led him from the room. "C'mon Ian, we'll sort it out in the morning."


	10. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I think I've finally lost Ian to Sally. Oh well, at least she promised me Lestrade in return. What'd you mean one fictional character can't give away another? That's so not true! I mean fathers give away their daughters all the time. I know it's not the same but…but…IT'S NOT FAIR! Fine! No one is mine and I make no money from their adventures in my little corner of the fandom.**

**A/N: This is the last chapter. Even for all my moaning about it I actually like this story. Not as much as the others but I still am glad I put in the effort. I also enjoyed writing the last chapter and this one as well. I hope you all enjoyed the ride. Thanks for reading. Oh, right…WARNING: there's a bit of language in this chapter. Seriously only a bit. One word.**

**Epilogue**

Sally walked softly into the parlour of her flat carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and one of tea in the other. She stopped abruptly at the sight before her. How many times had she seen this same scene growing up? Hundreds? Thousands? A pang of memory had her nearly crying.

Ian was curled in a tiny ball on her sofa. She'd always found it amazing how small Ian could make himself when he slept. He'd slept on her sofa at least twice a week from the time they'd been tiny. She'd never understood why he preferred to sleep on a tiny sofa when a nice big bed was available but he'd never liked beds. He'd claimed that too much room was worse than too little.

She shook off the memories and stepped further into the room. She placed the coffee down on the table in front of the sofa and knelt down beside Ian's head. "Ian," she whispered. "Ian, it's morning." She ran a gentle hand through silky black locks. She loved his hair.

Burry green eyes blinked open and slowly focused on her. Ian's features brightened with a smile. "Mornin' luv," he whispered his voice husky with sleep.

Sally gently turned his hair loosed and smiled. "Morning, Ian." She rocked back and picked up the cup of coffee. "I made you some coffee." She offered it to him and he sat up, stretching out the kinks before taking it from her and taking a sip with a grimace. "Sorry," she smiled impishly. "I only had instant. Don't know how you can drink that swill anyway. Tea's just as useful for a caffeine jolt."

"Blasphemy," Ian muttered at her and drank a bit more of the bitter brew with a wince. "So what's on the agenda for today, Sals?"

Sally stood up and then sat beside him on the sofa, her free hand reaching for his. "Well, you need to call the brother…Blaine? Let him know what's going on with his sister, find out what he knows. Then we're supposed to go down to the station so the DI can take your statement. After that, I don't know. We do need to have a conversation at some point, Ian, about us, I mean."

Ian sighed and nodded. "Busy day then. Should I wait until after we go see the DI before I call Blaine, you think?"

Sally shrugged. "I think it's really up to you. If you wait you might have more information for him and know the right questions to ask or you could just call him now and tell him what you've got. Either one carries the same risks. Personally I think you should stay out of it with him for the most part. Call him and tell him Bailey's been arrested and that he needs to get to London. Let the DI handle questioning him."

Ian polished off the last of the coffee. "Sounds like a plan." He set the mug down on the table and stood up. "May I use your shower, Sals?"

The ring of the doorbell and then a frantic banging on the door interrupted her answer. Ian raised both eyebrows and eyed the door with faint alarm. Sally only groaned and stood up. "Knock it off, Freak!" She yelled as she strode for the door. "I'm not asleep! I'm coming!" The knocking continued unabated. "Make him stop, Dr. John or I swear I'm not opening it." She stopped a few feet from the door and glared at it.

Ian took a step toward her as the handle turned and the door opened with a flourish. "If you didn't want people simply walking through the door then you'd lock it, Donovan," the tall dark haired man said amiably. "We thought we'd come over and ride to the Yard with you." He reached back and tugged the doctor through the door. "Good morning, Kill," Sherlock nodded to him and then paused and those gray eyes raked over him, Sally and the room before Sherlock looked back at him. "She made you sleep on the sofa. Pity. She could have used the together time."

Sally flushed but otherwise ignored him. "Good morning, Dr. John. Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you, Sgt. Sally. Someone pulled me from the flat before I'd had a chance to make any." He gave Sherlock a mild glare.

"Hang on a minute," Ian finally exclaimed. He stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Did you just call me 'Kill'?" He asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Sherlock gave him a bored look.

"Why?" Ian's tone was nearly whining. "I never killed anyone."

Sherlock snorted. "It's part of your name and that woman did kill Robert Chatham for you, did she not?" He flounced into the room and flopped down on the sofa. "I quite like your new nickname. I do believe that you and I will get along just fine, Kill. You're more observant than most people and you defended me against the woman you claim to have loved your whole life. I was a stranger and John says I was quite rude…again. You didn't have to ask her to stop calling me Freak but you did." He folded his hands under his chin and stared up at the ceiling. "I suppose I should say thank you for that. It won't stop her, though. I don't mind it. She's not so mean about that name anymore. It's just a word now." He turned his head to contemplate the other man. "Sometimes I think she thinks it's really my name."

Sally snorted, rolled her eyes and tugged Dr. John into the kitchen. "You mean it's not?"

Ian ran a hand through his hair and sat in chair to the side of the sofa. "Fine. Whatever. I don't care. But Bailey killed him because she's psychotic not because of me."

Sherlock gave him a sharp look. "Quite. How did you miss that? It was quite obvious from the first time I saw her. You're an artist, Kill. You should be more observant."

Ian's jaw dropped. He glared at the other man. "How was I supposed to know that delicate and high-strung were Andrews family code for dangerously psychotic and in need of fucking hospitalization?" He spluttered.

Sherlock sat up slowly, blinked at Ian, blinked at him again and then threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, I do like you, Kill. You amuse me very much. We are going to be very good friends." He cocked his head to the side. "I've never had a real friend, aside from John, though he doesn't actually count since he's my husband. I think I'm going to like having you for a friend."

Ian dropped his head into his hands. He thought about all of his interactions with Sherlock thus far and found the other man amused him too. He was energetic and arrogant and a bit cruel but he seemed to have a childlike view of the people close to him. Not to mention if they were friends Sherlock might agree to sit for him. It'd be interesting to see if he could match the exact color of Sherlock's eyes at any given time. He lifted his head. "Okay, Shock, we'll be friends."

"Brilliant!" Sherlock grinned and jumped to his feet. He took two steps towards the kitchen and then whirled back around to face Ian. "Shock?"

Ian smirked. "It's part of your name and admit it, shocking people is your favorite past time."

Sherlock allowed another grin to pass his lips. "I told you we'd be good friends," he crowed and pulled Ian from the chair. "London awaits us."

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

In the kitchen Sally and John shared an anxious glance. Sally sighed. "I really hope London's ready for the duo of Shock and Kill. I know I'm not."

**A/N: Well that's it for this story. I know I left a few questions unanswered but I figure any issues in Sally and Ian's relationship can be worked out through other stories. Hope you liked it. See you next time!**


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